


Five Times Bucky Didn’t Remember His Relationship With Steve (Plus One Time Where He Still Doesn't Remember But Falls In Love All Over Again)

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Somewhat canon-compliant, and discussion of the past, in the flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: An attempt at a 5+1 fic where each chapter is vaguely based off of a Simon & Garfunkel song. Except not straight.





	1. "America"

Bucky was in the window seat, staring down at the lush green earth passing below them. Steve sat beside him, a smile on his face as he just sat and took in the view. Bucky was back. They were heading home. 

“So, are you happy to finally be going home?” Steve asked.

Bucky turned and scrutinized Steve for a moment before answering. “Maybe? I think so, but it’s been a long time since I’ve really been able to call New York home. I went back to Brooklyn for a little bit after DC, did you know? Tried to find our old building. Long gone.”

“Yeah. I looked for it, too. I missed our old place a lot at first, but I think that was just loneliness and nostalgia. I found that nostalgia fades pretty fast when you have heating that doesn’t randomly conk out on you in the middle of the winter,” Steve grinned. “My new place isn’t huge, but it’s definitely big enough for the two of us.”

Bucky didn’t have a chance to reply because the flight attendant had stopped her cart next to them and was asking if they’d like anything to eat or drink. Bucky asked for a ginger ale and one of the slices of peach pie hiding on the middle shelf of the cart. Steve pondered for a moment and asked for a slice of pie for himself, too, and nothing to drink, thank you.

They ate in silence. The pie was pretty good. 

\--------------

Bucky watched the sunset. He knew they were flying west, chasing the sun, but it still felt a little surreal how slowly it was going down. He felt a little bit like that long sunset. He’d been drawn out too long, unnaturally so. But this, this part of his life here and now was a sunrise. He had a chance to start over. He glanced over at Steve, just out of the corner of his eye. Steve was reading an in-flight magazine, having already finished the book he’d brought. Steve was seemingly lost to his reading, but Bucky knew if he turned his head, Steve’s attention would be right back on him, ready to answer anything, give him anything he wanted. Bucky had remembered a lot of his past, but not everything. Was this just Steve’s lingering guilt or something else?

\--------------

Steve was asleep. Really and truly asleep now. Snoring a little. That was one thing the serum hadn’t been able to fix. Or maybe it had tried, and had just done the best it could. He thought he remembered it used to be a lot louder before. Maybe that was just because of how small their apartment was, how they had to share a room. More than that, he remembered sometimes sharing his narrow bed with Steve. Luckily Steve hadn’t taken up much room. It was probably to keep warm in the winters because of the heat conking out. Or something. He was still missing some memories from before the war. Bucky didn’t _think_ he’d minded the close quarters and the touching back then, but he wasn’t so sure he liked being touched these days. It had taken a lot of work to break the conditioning of “touch = pain” enough to be able to go out in a crowd and not break into a cold sweat. 

But Steve said his new building had good heating. Bucky thought he could do with a nice, warm bed to fall into once they’d worked off the jet lag. Nice and soft, with lots of blankets. And _no_ snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Simon & Garfunkel - "America"](https://youtu.be/W773ZPJhcVw)


	2. "Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall"

Steve had tried to hide it, but Bucky had caught the little look of surprise (and was that _disappointment_?) when he had taken his single bag into the guest room. What did he think, they were going to go back to sharing one room again? Not that Bucky had minded sharing, but now that there was enough room, he didn’t feel the need. He liked the idea of having somewhere to go just his own. Didn’t want to intrude too much into Steve’s personal space, either. Seeing Steve’s reaction brought up a little feeling of… something. He wasn’t sure. There was something below the surface here that maybe he hadn’t remembered, or wasn’t picking up on.

Steve put on his best neutral face and then it was gone. 

\----------------

Steve certainly was enthusiastic, practically acting like a _tourist_ , trying to show Bucky all the new things, the old things that were still around, and everything he’d missed between 1943 and the present. As much as he could in one day. They were both exhausted when they finally returned to Steve’s place that night. 

Bucky had fallen into bed, fully meaning to sleep in his clothes, but Steve had insisted on lending him some pajamas until he could get some of his own. (”Aw, c’mon Steve, I’m used to it. It’s been safer to sleep in my clothes, then I’m ready to leave a lot quicker if I need to.” “But you don’t need to anymore, you’re safe here. I promise. And lemme tell you, pajamas are a lot comfier these days. You’re gonna love these.”) And maybe it was because of how long they had been apart, but he kinda felt like Steve was hovering, unwilling to be away from him. There had to be something he wasn’t remembering right. 

“Oh, go on to bed, I know you’re tired. I’m tired too. I promise I won’t skip out on you in the middle of the night,” Bucky said, waving Steve off from where he stood, leaning on the doorframe.

Steve gave a small, difficult to read smile and returned to his own room. Bucky closed the door after him and changed into the pajamas Steve had given him. They _were_ pretty comfortable.

\----------------

As tired as he was, Bucky still slept fitfully. He couldn’t remember the last good night’s sleep he’d had (and no, cryofreeze didn’t count). He knew he’d gotten a lot of his memories back. He’d thought he’d gotten most of them back, even. In the two years between escaping HYDRA and going back into cryo in Wakanda, he thought he’d been doing pretty well. And then Steve happened. Steve threw everything into flux. A variable he somehow hadn’t been able to account for. But Steve wasn’t supposed to be a _variable_ , he was _Steve_. What was missing? 

In the meantime, he’d just have to fake it til he figured it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall](https://youtu.be/Fd-DvSTBq1o)


	3. "Fakin' It"

How long was polite to wait before asking about the unresolved tension that had been hanging in the air since day one? Steve was unflinchingly polite, but that was part of the problem. Steve seemed far too tentative, practically walking on eggshells around Bucky. Steve could get a little shy and flustered, but at heart he had always been a little punk, full of sass and spirit. Where had that fire gone? We’re both faking it, Bucky thought. A couple months now and we’re still both faking it.

It bothered Bucky that the times Steve seemed most comfortable around him was when they were out and about with the other Avengers, Steve’s other friends. When he was out in a group, he came back to life, back to his old self, laughing and making terrible jokes. He still made bad jokes at home, but they felt forced, like he wasn’t sure what reaction he’d get out of Bucky. Or what kind or reaction he _wanted_ to get.

“Alright, Steve, spit it out,” Bucky said one evening, holding the TV remote just out of Steve’s reach. “No Netflix until you tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Steve said, lunging for the remote.

“Nope, you’re still a terrible liar,” Bucky said, dodging out of the way. “Something’s bothering you. Has been since I got back. What is it?”

“It’s not you.”

“ _I_ never said it was me, which means it is something about me that’s bothering you. C’mon, Steve. Honesty is the best policy. I _know_ I’ve changed. What is it?”

“There isn’t anything you’ve remembered that you haven’t told me?” Steve asked, voice almost hopeful.

“There’s a lot of things I haven’t told you,” Bucky said more quietly. “There’s things I remember that no one should have to know.”

“Oh, no Bucky. No. Not that. Anything about us that you haven’t told me,” Steve said, eyes pleading for a ‘yes.’

“I don’t think so,” Bucky answered. “HYDRA erased a lot of how we were before. A lot came back, but there’s still more shadows than I can account for, and I’m guessing it’s one of those shadows that’s got you all worried. In taking me away, they took a lot of you away, too. They had to. I know how close we were. I know how close we could be again, except that there’s something about me that’s worrying you. Sometimes I worry about myself, too.”

Steve nodded, a silent ‘go on.’

Bucky shifted his seat on the couch, dropping his hands to his lap. Steve made no move to reclaim the remote. Bucky continued. “I know sometimes it feels like I’m wearing a mask of myself. Sometimes it feels like I’m only going through the motions, trying to be my old self. Some days I want my old self back, but at the same time I know he both is and is not me, and I can’t be who I’m not.”

“I want you to be comfortable with yourself, whoever that ends up being. Honestly, I’d be happy if the old you came back, but I’ll be happy with whoever you need to be. So who do you want to be?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know, really. I think I’m still trying to figure it out,” Bucky replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fakin’ It](https://youtu.be/IkFBOd4YN60)


	4. "The Dangling Conversation"

[Steve’s perspective]

Steve kept waiting for Bucky to remember. He had remembered so much, so why not this? Hadn’t it been as big a part of Bucky’s life as it had been his? Could HYDRA really have managed to erase every bit of it? 

Or maybe he did remember. Bucky had said that he knew how close they were, but that he’s not who he used to be. What if he remembered but didn’t want that anymore? But then what did he mean by ‘how close we could be again’? Friends-close or lovers-close?

What other reason could he have for acting like it had never happened? Like they had never spoken those words in secret whispers in the gray pre-dawn or the exhausted evenings when Bucky returned from the docks or the first time on his sixteenth birthday, under the fireworks on the roof of their building, Bucky’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

(”I love you.” “Love ya too, punk.” “No, I mean it. I _love_ you.” “Y’know, you’re real lucky I’m just as sick in the head as you are. You could get into real trouble saying stuff like that out loud.” “I ain’t sick in the head, and you ain’t either. I love you and I don’t wanna hear that it’s wrong ‘cause it ain’t wrong. I’ve never felt more right about anything, Buck. _Never_.” “You’re barely sixteen, you’re still in school. How do you know you’re right?” “I just do and I’ll never not know. You with me?” “’Til the end of the line, Stevie. ‘Til the end of the line.”)

Bucky was back, they were living under the same roof, but some days they felt like strangers. They were friends, but Steve knew they had once been so much closer. And Steve wanted that back. He didn’t need the old Bucky back, but he wanted to get to know the new Bucky as well as he had known the old. He wanted so much more, but he would take whatever Bucky gave him and savor it.

Steve peered up over the top of his book. Bucky sat curled up in the recliner, legs tucked up under him, almost on the other side of the room from Steve. Bucky’s eyes never left his own book, even as he raised his coffee mug to his lips. They used to spend nights like this, reading dime novels together, tucked up into each other and just savoring the closeness. Steve knew that Bucky had gotten much better with casual touches, like wrestling over the remote or bumping into each other in the still-too-small kitchen, but he didn’t seem to want more. And Steve did. And he didn’t know how to broach the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Dangling Conversation](https://youtu.be/nntOYUODSV0)


	5. "Overs"

The tension finally broke like a summer storm. 

“I can’t take it any longer. Bucky,” Steve said one night over dishes, dropping the handful of silverware back into the sink with a clatter. “I’m sorry if you don’t remember, but I can’t _not_ tell you. Before you fell, before HYDRA, before the war (well, and during the war, too). We were, we were together. Going steady. Lovers. I loved you, and you loved me back. And I don’t blame you for not remembering, but it’s really painful for me to remember all of it and you don’t.”

“We were lovers?” Bucky asked, pausing, dish towel in hand.

“Yes,” Steve nodded. “We were. For ten years. I told you on my sixteenth birthday. I told you, you argued for a bit that I couldn’t know, but I did, and you did too. Then you kissed me and it was the best birthday present I’d ever gotten.”

“Ten years?” Bucky said unbelievingly, pulling out a chair and sitting down slowly. “We were together for _ten years_ and I don’t remember any of it?”

“We were,” Steve nodded.

“We were lovers for ten years? But I have memories from then. How could they have taken something as big as that and left other, less important memories? I remember working at the docks. I remember you trying to scrounge up the money to go to art school, but every time you’d get sick and have to spend the money on doctors and medicine instead. I remember taking girls out to dance. Or more than just dance. Was that real? If we were lovers, why would I have gone out with girls?”

“Camouflage,” Steve said, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “We were starting to attract attention. We knew I’d probably never pass muster, but if you kept up appearances, then they might just think you were taking pity on me, letting your childhood friend room with you because I couldn’t earn enough to get by on my own. And well, if you didn’t notice that your friend had turned out to be a little fairy, then they weren’t going to say anything to you as long as I behaved myself.”

“So. Yeah. Ok. I mean, I believe you; you’re a terrible liar and you have no reason to lie about any of this, but this is kind of a lot to process right now. Ten years. There are ten years of memories that I didn’t know had missing pieces,” Bucky said, shaking his head as if doing so could uncover the lost memories.

“Should I have not told you?” Steve said, sitting down across the table from Bucky.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just a lot to think about. What do you want from me?”

“Ideally? I want you back. I never stopped loving you. More realistically, I want to not have irreparably screwed things up by telling you this. I want us to stay friends, even if you never feel that way about me again.”

“Steve. Of course we’ll stay friends. And I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, but I’ve only been back and living with you for three months now. If I fell in love with you once, what’s to say it won’t happen again? But if it’s gonna happen, we’ve got to let it happen organically. You can’t push and I can’t try to force it.”

“I– yeah. Thank you, Buck.”

\------------------

Bucky knew he couldn’t _make_ himself fall in love. If it was gonna happen, then it would happen at it’s own pace. And if it was happening, then it was happening maddeningly slow. He liked being around Steve, but he didn’t get that deep, burning desire, didn’t get the twisting, butterflies-in-the-stomach reaction. Steve was comfortable. Habitual. 

They’d sit at the breakfast table, reading the paper and occasionally drinking the other’s coffee on accident until Steve started adding sugar to _his_ coffee because he’d gotten used to how Bucky took his. They’d leave each other little notes around the house; post-its on the bathroom mirror just to say I’m glad we’re friends, or on the front door to say I’m proud of you for going back to school and by the way don’t forget your homework, or on the fridge to say there’s more stroganoff in the freezer, I know you really liked that recipe. Smile and be there for each other when Steve came home from work too tired to do much talking or when Bucky had a rough day after therapy.

What if this was how things were now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Overs](https://youtu.be/_uIrXfVtXbI)


	6. "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her"

What if this was what being in love felt like?

What if love didn’t have to be the over-excited teenage crush or the burning desire to jump each other’s bones every night? What if love was soft and comfortable? What if love was falling asleep on the couch during movie night and waking up with his head on Steve’s shoulder and Steve asleep next to him because he didn’t want to wake him? What was love if not friendship taken further? So if this was love, then Bucky thought he might have fallen in love with Steve all over again without hardly noticing.

Of course, now he’d have to figure out how to tell Steve. Because if he hadn’t noticed it creeping up, then Steve probably hadn’t, either.

\--------------

Bucky appreciated the subway, he really did. He didn’t think he wanted to drive in New York City traffic. But there were definitely times when the subway made him wish he could create an impenetrable _physical_ personal space bubble. Sometimes the people were just too _much_. He gripped his shoulder-bag closer despite the warning squish that meant his Chinese take-out might be trying to find its way into his physics lecture notes. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, and listened for the station announcements.

When Bucky let himself back into his and Steve’s place (because even if his name wasn’t on the papers, it was both of theirs now) that night he was still strained from the train ride home but trying not to show it. 

“Hey Steve, I’m home,” he called out, walking to the kitchen. He pulled the collection of slightly dented take-out boxes out of his bag and set them on the counter. (And there was only a slight sauce stain on the outside of his physics folder, so maybe his notes inside had escaped serious harm.) “I’ve got lo mein, fried rice, that pepper beef you like, and a half-dozen egg rolls. Dinner is served.”

“Is it dinner time already?” Steve asked, popping his head around the kitchen doorframe, a smear of paint on his left temple and a few more new splatters on the old t-shirt he wore when painting.

“And this is why I keep telling you to wear a watch,” Bucky teased. “Go cover your paints and wash up.”

“I do wear a watch, just not when painting. It gets messy,” Steve said, ducking back out.

\----------------

“You feeling ok?” Steve asked, watching Bucky across the kitchen table.

Bucky hesitated. Honesty was the best policy, right? “Not entirely,” he replied. “I’ve been having kind of an off day and then the subway was pretty crowded tonight and people kept bumping into me the whole ride home.”

Steve made a sympathetic face. “Sorry about that. Would you rather reschedule tonight’s Netflix or take the whole sofa for yourself? I can clear my stuff off the recliner if you need some space.”

“Tempting,” Bucky said, “but I think I’d rather share the couch with you.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Bucky shrugged. “What can I say? I like being around you.”

“I thought you didn’t like being touched on off days?” Steve replied cautiously.

“Usually I don’t,” Bucky said, “but this is _you_ , Steve. I like you.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile.

\--------------

Fifteen minutes into Netflix and chill and Bucky had managed to wiggle his way into Steve’s lap. Steve put up a token resistance at first, but upon realizing that Bucky knew full well what he was doing, let it happen. He wanted it, and if Bucky did too, then he wasn’t complaining.

“Comfortable there?” Steve asked.

“Yep,” Bucky replied.

“So, uh, if I may ask, what changed? You never used to get all cuddly on bad days and now, well, this,” Steve said, gesturing over Bucky.

“This,” Bucky said with a grin and an impish glint in his eye.

Steve’s mouth was halfway open, meaning to ask what ‘this’ meant when Bucky leaned up and kissed him.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but he quickly recovered, slipping a hand up to cup Bucky’s jaw and kiss him back. They kissed. Not with desperate, breathless passion, but with an easy familiarity. Like it hadn’t been over seventy years since they’d last done this. They parted somewhat reluctantly.

“Are you crying?” Steve asked, his thumb brushing Bucky’s cheek.

“No,” Bucky lied.

“I know I’m out of practice, but I’m not _that_ bad of a kisser,” Steve teased, drawing a laugh from Bucky.

“You kinda are,” Bucky teased back. “But I don’t need perfect, I need you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“What do you think it means?”

“You gotta say it yourself. I’m not gonna put words in your mouth.”

“If I say it, will you put your tongue in my mouth?”

Steve laughed. “If that’s you want, Buck.”

“It is,” Bucky said with a nod. “I love you, Steve. I really do.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her](https://youtu.be/WaWrdwP1YH0)


End file.
